


Close Quarters

by RoseAlenko



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jon is a Sexy Math Teacher lol, Rating for Later, Sort Of, Teacher AU, and a big nerd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 09:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18233114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAlenko/pseuds/RoseAlenko
Summary: Eager for a new start after a bad breakup, Dany takes a job at Winterfell High, where she gets more than she bargained for in the enigmatic math teacher, Mr. Snow.





	Close Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a little something I started back in December as an intended gift for a friend on tumblr. I wasn't able to finish it then but I've had some asks about it and decided to share what I have so far. Hopefully publishing the first bit will help me to finish up faster! It will be two parts in total and the E rating is mostly for part two. This is unbeta'd and just for fun. Enjoy :)

“Think of it as … professional development.” Olenna Tyrell smiled blithely as the room erupted with protests. It was one thing to ask faculty to attend an in-service meeting before the Christmas holiday, but quite another to force them up the mountains for a team-building retreat. Even Dany, ordinarily agreeable and understanding when it came to Olenna’s stringent policies, couldn’t help feeling a little mutinous at the idea.

“And just what professional qualities will we be developing while holed up in your time share, Principal Tyrell?” Cersei Lannister’s dislike for their principal was well-known, and as the drama teacher she was, expectedly, outspoken and a little theatrical.

For once, Dany found herself in agreement with Cersei, however impertinent her question. She couldn’t see the logic in a faculty ski trip.  

True, Dany was somewhat new to White Harbor and its flagship secondary school, Winterfell High. She was in her second year of employment teaching history and had yet to establish many lasting friendships among her fellow teachers. But that was alright. Friends and colleagues weren’t a part of her classroom, and she managed quite well in the instruction of her classes _on her own_. No snowy excursions or forced mingling with other faculty were going to improve her rapport with her students.

But unlike many of the outraged teachers in the room Dany lacked a valid excuse for avoiding a holiday getaway. She had no family waiting back home for a visit, no children of her own to look after. In all likelihood she would spend the entire holiday break at home with her three cats were it not for this trip. A lonely prospect, but not enough to stoke her interest in the retreat.

To her right, Tyrion Lannister, resident wine-sodden English teacher, shifted restlessly in his seat, a sardonic grin forming on his lips.

“I hear the luge is all the rage on the conference circuit this semester. Excellent way to build your CV.” There was a scatter of chuckles from among the gathered faculty, though Cersei, Tyrion’s elder sister, seemed less than amused.

Principal Tyrell merely stared at Tyrion without a flicker of warmth until the room fell silent again.

“If you ever bothered to _attend_ a conference, instead of spending your weekends at the pub, you’d understand the importance of networking with others in your field, Mr. Lannister,” she returned coolly.

Tyrion sat up a little straighter at the jab, but offered no argument.

“That’s all very well,” Cersei pressed, forcing a strained smile. “But we’re not in one another’s fields, are we? Missandei is fluent in languages I’ve never heard of, but she can’t teach Mr. Snow’s students trigonometry. Neither of them can direct a full theatrical production. Our work is different. Each of us, every day, has a different approach to what we do. And sending us all into the mountains for some juvenile bonding ritual is no way to improve our test scores.”

“What do you care about test scores?” Sansa Stark demanded from the next row over. “You’re the _theater_ teacher.”

“You’re one to talk. As if home ec is really setting our girls up for success on the SAT,” Cersei sneered.

“It’s not just about that. A trip like this, we might all get to know each other.” Sansa offered Olenna an angelic smile. If nothing else, she was better at faking it than the rest of them.

“Yes,” agreed Oberyn Martell, eyebrows wagging suggestively. “I think we could stand getting to know another better.”

Dany sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at them both. Sansa was the home economics teacher and a nice girl from what little Dany knew of her, if a bit of a brownnose. But her support of Olenna’s silly trip felt like treachery to the rest of them. And as for Oberyn, the always-inappropriate boys’ gym coach? He was just eager for an excuse to carouse with his colleagues

“It’s about communication,” Olenna insisted. “Look at you all! You’re riotous at the prospect of a _paid_ holiday simply because it involves interaction with one another. You _need_ each other. To discuss learning trends, problems across disciplines, classroom management styles, conflict resolution, conduct issues, ideas for student engagement. You’re almost as detached as our phone-obsessed teenagers! But we need to work together, to improve our learning environment, student completion, and, evidently, faculty morale.”

A scoff sounded behind her and Dany turned to find the aforementioned Mr. Snow glowering as usual. Jon was the resident math teacher. He was young, like Dany, and the students loved him. She couldn’t imagine why.

“Something to add, Mr. Snow?” Dany asked, turning in her seat to fix him with her lilac stare. There was a flash of surprise in his eyes when they found hers, but it was gone just as quickly.

“Of course not, Ms. Targaryen.” There was ice in his reply, a promise of more and unkinder words left unspoken. _Typical_.

Olenna passed a curious glance between the two of them before nodding with finality.

“Good. With that settled you’ll all receive the details of your itinerary through your faculty email. The only thing left to decide on is transportation arrangements.”

“Transportation?” Tyrion asked. “Won’t we all just pile merrily into one of those yellow deathtraps the students are lucky enough to ride in every day?”

Olenna’s glare was enough to make even Dany flinch.

“Our school busses are very safe, Mr. Lannister, I assure you. The incident last year had nothing to do with the integrity of the vehicle. Mr. Dondarrion didn’t see the oncoming vehicle in time on account of his … impaired sight.”

Tyrion only blinked at Olenna, his smile never wavering. It took all of Dany’s self-control not to erupt into laughter at his side.

“For the gods’ sake, can we end this meeting? What transportation are you providing, Principal Tyrell?” Cersei demanded, already standing to leave.

“None.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” Olenna answered calmly. “None. While our busses are more than safe for their _intended_ purposes they aren’t rated for ascent to high elevations, especially in the winter months. No. You’ll need to take your own vehicles. We’ll pay for your mileage, of course, but we’re only budgeted for three reimbursements, so you’ll need to carpool.”

A synchronized groan rose all around the room, but Dany was silent, panic overtaking her at this latest development. She hadn’t considered the possibility that she might need to drive herself, much less any others. She wasn’t used to driving here, to the snow-laden roads and their treacherous slickness. Back home, she could count on one hand the number of times the roads had frozen over. Her city wasn’t prepared for it. Why bother? That far South, it simply wasn’t cold enough. So any time the conditions didn’t favor driving, businesses simply closed, the citizens bundled up safely in their homes until the streets were passable again.

Since the move to White Harbor Dany had used a rideshare service to get to work when the weather was poor, always telling herself that she’d learn how to drive in the snow eventually, when she was ready. Just not yet.

Apparently she’d have to teach herself over the next two days. That, or hope she was lucky enough not to be chosen to ferry the others up the mountain in her car.

“Cersei,” Olenna said, interrupting her reverie. She squinted down at a notebook that lay open on the podium before her. “You’ll drive up first, being that you’ve got no after-school engagements on Friday. Based on their schedules, it looks like you can take Sansa and Missandei with you.”

Cersei swore under her breath but nodded, Sansa looking more than a little disappointed behind her. In front of Dany, Missandei turned in her seat, a grimace of dismay on her pretty face.

“Fuck me,” she mouthed, shaking her head. No one in their right mind would want to ride up with Cersei. Dany couldn’t help sympathizing her with her friend. She indulged in a bit of pity for herself, too. She’d hoped that if nothing else, she and Missandei would at least ride together.

“Samwell,” Olenna continued, still eyeing the schedule carefully. “You’ll also leave Friday afternoon, with Oberyn, Tyrion, and my granddaughter.” This time Dany couldn’t suppress her snort of amusement. Of all the employees at Winterfell High, Samwell Tarly was the most tightly wound and by-the-book. He was a nervous man, always wary of disgruntled students and overbearing parents. How the timid librarian was going to survive a weekend away with the likes of Oberyn and Tyrion ribbing him was beyond her. At least Olenna’s lovely granddaughter, Margaery, would be there. She was kind but firm, the students’ best-loved counselor. With her around, the men wouldn’t be _too_ hard on Sam.

Looking around the room, Dany realized with horror that this left only three people unassigned: herself, Davos Seaworth, the aging guidance counselor, and _Jon Snow_.

“Mr. Seaworth is out with the flu,” Olenna reported, finally looking up from her schedule. “So that leaves . . .  Ms. Targaryen, you have the honors’ society meeting Friday evening. And Mr. Snow, you’ve got fencing practice. That means the two of you will have to ride together, leaving Friday night.”

 _No_.

Dany opened her mouth to protest but Olenna spoke first, her eyes suddenly glued to the ornate gold watch on her wrist.

“We’ll adjourn now. Much to do. Look for more information in your emails.” With that, the principal bustled out of the room in a sweep of her dark green skirt, leaving the rest of them grumbling in her wake.

“I can’t believe this,” Dany muttered, meeting Missandei’s pitying gaze. “I can’t ride up with _Jon_.”

She turned hesitantly to see if he was still behind her, wondering if she should approach him first to make a plan, explain that she couldn’t drive. But he was already gone, the desk he’d been sitting at vacant.

“What is it with the two of you anyway?” Tyrion asked, quirking a brow at her as they filed out of the room with the others.

“What do mean? Nothing.” Dany paused, staring down to fiddle at a hangnail on her thumb as she scrambled for the right words, determinedly avoiding Missandei’s knowing look. “I don’t like him is all. I’d think even you could understand that. He isn’t the friendly sort.”

The lie was easy, natural so that she almost believed it herself. The truth was less simple, and dodging it now only brought the memories back with staggering force.

* * *

It had been almost a year since the office Christmas party. Dany had only been teaching at Winterfell for three months back then, still learning the ropes, still getting to know its colorful cast of faculty and staff

She and Missandei had been fast friends. They were close in age, hired at the same time, and Dany’s interest in world history paired well with Missandei’s knowledge of various languages and cultures. They often planned joint projects in their classes together, had dinner on the weekends, and spent lazy evenings at one another’s apartments grading papers and splitting a bottle of wine.

Dany’s friendship with Tyrion was less conventional. He’d been dubbed her “new faculty mentor,” a job he approached with dry humor and no _real_ advice. But the arrangement had paired them together at various work functions until she had developed a grudging affection for the sardonic older man.

Dany was grateful for her newfound friends, and for the most part she was happy with her colleagues at Winterfell; but even then, Jon Snow had found his way under her skin. He was quiet and withdrawn in the lounge, his nose always in a book, earbuds in place to block out any chance at the distraction of conversation. He taught math, she knew, but he was usually reading fiction instead of working through equations. Adventure thrillers and fantasy epics.

Every day he brought a healthy lunch from home, and he was almost always early through the door in the morning because he came to work straight from the gym. His dark-colored dress shirts fit well enough to show the sturdy build of his arms and shoulders. At least his hard work was paying off.

Outside his classroom he never talked to anyone save his best friend, Sam, and the occasional chat with Tyrion for a book recommendation. Even his cousin, Sansa, seemed to prefer Margaery to the company of the seemingly cold Jon. So Mr. Snow was a man of rigid discipline and few words, but Dany liked nothing more than a hopeless cause.

It didn’t help matters that she frequently looked up from her morning coffee in the lounge to find him watching her silently from his seat across the room. The moment she caught him looking he’d quickly drop his gaze back to the book in his lap. Ordinarily it would have annoyed her to be stared at, but Jon’s attention was a little flattering. He was handsome, with a fine, bearded jaw and big brown eyes framed by Warby Parker wayfarers. Yet despite his frequent glances her way, they’d never spoken past the obligatory introduction in her first week.

Jon’s withdrawn behavior would’ve been sufficient to catch her attention on its own. Dany had a history of involvement with inappropriate or unavailable men, after all. Her catastrophic breakup with Drogo would have been reason enough to move across the country, even without the job offer at Winterfell. So Dany had been ready to write Jon off as another case of her inconvenient attraction to, for lack of a better word, assholes.

But then she’d seen Jon teaching. She’d happened by his classroom on the way to the lounge during her free period, and the little rectangular window into his room framed a portrait of an entirely different man.

He was animated and energetic, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to his elbows as he moved from one corner of the board to the next, scrawling out numbers and graphs and turning to his students with a smile so dazzling it stopped her in her tracks. Who got _that_ excited about algebra?

Maybe he wasn’t the office grump after all, just a man who didn’t much care for idle small talk and forced pleasantries. Dany could respect that. She wasn’t exactly a social butterfly herself, and being the new girl in a small town like White Harbor was a lonely business. A part of her wanted to fix that.

So she’d gotten absurdly dolled up for the office Christmas party that year, barely zipping herself into a sequined red cocktail dress and using the occasion to break in a pair of her highest heels, shiny black patent leather.

The party was held off-campus so that they could all indulge in the booze they so desperately needed around the holidays. The school’s hospitality fund had gone toward an open tab at the sports bar off Main Street, Tyrion’s favorite weekend haunt.

The place had been spruced up for Christmas, string lights along the bar, red and green window paint near the entrance broadcasting season’s greetings to the passersby. The tables had been pushed back or removed to make space for a crude dance floor, and music was blasting through the sound system at a near-deafening volume.

Dany could feel the bass in her bones, a humming vibration that excited her. It’d been too long since she’d had any real fun or done anything for _herself_. She was always so focused—working toward her next career goal, learning new ways to approach her students. That night was supposed to be different.

Things started off well enough. She slid up on the barstool next to Tyrion, already a few beers in and chatting up the bartender.

“Targaryen!” he’d greeted her enthusiastically before sweeping his eyes over her dress. “You look like an HR violation waiting to happen.”

Dany snorted, shaking her head demurely. That was good. She hadn’t worn a skin-tight, sparkly dress to blend into the background. But it wasn’t Tyrion’s admiration she was after.

“Put her first drink on me,” he instructed the bartender, throwing a friendly nod Dany’s way.

“Thanks. Vodka soda, please. With a twist.”

Tyrion frowned at her drink order.

“And two shots of whiskey straight up,” he added, winking at Dany’s surprise.

“Tyrion, no,” she protested quickly. “That’s too much, I—”

“Not to worry,” he sang out with a grin. “It’s not for _me_. One for you, and one to quiet down this insufferable chatterbox to my left.”

“Who?” she wondered aloud. Tyrion just patted the bartop twice in parting and slipped easily from his seat and onto the floor. On the other side of his now-empty stool sat Jon Snow. His expression was one of confusion to match Dany’s own as Tyrion picked up his drink and backed away from them.“

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he warned, and with a wink, he disappeared into the crowd.

Dany scoffed before turning back to Jon. He looked smart in a slim cut black suit. He wore black a lot, she’d noticed. Black like his hair. He had nice hair.

“Hi,” she offered simply. The greeting came out in an awkward sort of yell to be heard over the music and the dead space of the empty seat between them.

“Uh, yeah. Hey,” Jon returned. She saw his gaze dip to take in her outfit, the plunge of her neckline. He swallowed with a bob of his Adam’s apple before dragging his eyes back to hers.

A clink of glass against the bar signaled the arrival of the shots and Dany eyed them apprehensively. She didn’t drink nearly often enough to be comfortable shooting whiskey. But she’d resolved to have fun tonight. To relax. And with this night marking the beginning of a week’s holiday break from work, she didn’t have any reason to be up early the next day.

“We don’t have to—I mean, you don’t have to take it. Tyrion is just—he’s pushy. But you don’t have to drink that,” Jon assured her, leaning across the stool to be heard over the noise of the bar.

 _That’s more words than you’ve ever said to me_ , Dany thought, a smile tugging at her red-lacquered lips.

“I know,” she said, taking the shots in hand. She held one out to Jon with a nod of encouragement. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Snow.”

Jon stared at her hand for a moment of indecision before accepting the proffered whiskey.

“Merry Christmas, Daenerys.”

“You can call me Dany,” she offered. “My friends call me Dany.”

They toasted with a clink of their glasses that sloshed some of the liquid onto Dany’s fingers before she brought it to her mouth and downed it one gulp. It was strong and bitter on her tongue, burning all the way down her throat, and Dany had to fight the urge to gag from the taste. She’d never been one for hard liquor.

Jon appeared totally unaffected, swallowing it without the merest wince of discomfort. He looked up just as Dany was sucking the spilled, sticky drops off her skin, eyes rivetted to the sight of her finger between her lips. He shifted in his seat before turning back to the bar.

Dany sighed, taking the vodka soda Tyrion had bought for her from the bartop and sipping it to dispel the lingering flavor of the whiskey. She could see Jon fidgeting out of the corner of her eye, nursing a pint of some draught. The empty seat between them felt like a canyon. She wanted him to scoot over and sit by her. Strike up conversation. _Something_.

But he didn’t. Instead he traced a fingertip idly through the frost of condensation on his beer glass, determinedly keeping his eyes straight ahead. Apparently, he was done talking.

Dany pressed her lips together in irritation, her stare boring into the side of his head. She wasn’t used to this, to having to be the pursuer. In any other circumstance she would be the one rebuffing a man’s advances.

She polished off her whole drink waiting for him to make a move. And then another. It was a lot for someone her size. Even more for someone who drank as seldom as she. But Jon’s silence was maddening enough to keep her going, anything for a distraction from the awkward tension that hung palpably between them.

It was tempting to abandon him altogether and join the crowd on the dancefloor. Dany had already spied Missandei in a sleek black cocktail dress, dancing close with her boyfriend Grey. They looked happy. And she knew that somewhere out there Tyrion was several whiskies deep and engaged in some drunken philosophical discourse with an unwilling participant. Most likely Samwell Tarly. That’d be something to watch.

But she was too curious about Jon to leave things as they were. This was the closest they’d gotten to a real conversation. She’d seen him all those times in the lounge at work, even in faculty meetings. He _stared_ at her. That meant he was attracted to her, didn’t it? So what was he waiting for?

Missandei bellied up to the bar next to her, giggling helplessly, Grey in tow.

“Dany!” she greeted her, patting her a little too hard on the back before ordering another glass of wine.

“Why aren’t you dancing?”

“Wrong shoes for it,” she fibbed, shrugging. “Enjoying the party?”

“Very much,” Missandei confirmed. Grey only smiled. He didn’t speak much English, which was just as well since Missandei was an expert in his native Valyrian tongue.

When her wine was delivered Missandei raised it to Dany, who toasted her with a clink of her own glass.

“Merry Christmas, Dany.”

“Merry Christmas,” she returned brightly. Missandei’s jovial spirit was infectious, even as she peered over Dany’s shoulder, no-doubt eyeing her sulking neighbor. She raised a brown questioningly at Dany before taking another sip of her wine.

“See you out there then?”

“Maybe later,” Dany replied, hoping it was true. She had to admit that it looked like a lot more fun than her current occupation.

When the couple had gone, she turned back to Jon with a sigh loud enough to be heard even over the boom of the music.

“So,” she began, scooting toward him and onto the empty barstool at last. “What’s your problem?”

His face hardened instantly, posture going rigid.

“Excuse me?”

She was being rude. She knew that much, but the heady combination of liquid courage coursing through her veins and the weeks of compounded curiosity about this man spurred her on anyway.

“Why did you come here if you’re only going to sit there pouting?”

“I’m _not_ pouting. I’m having a pint at a bar. What else would you have me do?”

“I don’t know, dance.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“I don’t dance.”

Dany rolled her eyes, sucking at her straw as it rattled loudly in her empty glass.

“Another one, please,” she called, raising her drink in the air to call the bartender over their way.

“You might want to slow down,” Jon cautioned. “You’ve been putting those away pretty fast all night.”

“So you’ve been watching me ‘all night,’ but couldn’t bother saying a word?” Jon shrunk back, clearly uncomfortable. _Good_ , Dany thought _. At least he can feel_ something.

When her drink arrived she took it at once, defiantly holding Jon’s gaze as she brought the straw to her lips and took a deep drink. The nerve of him, really, telling her she ought to slow down. He made no further protests, though, and Dany could feel his eyes on her mouth as she drank.

“So you don’t dance,” she noted. “And you don’t talk.”

“I never said I didn’t talk,” he fired back.

“But you haven’t.”

“Well, neither have you!”

 _Fair enough_. She swallowed, trying to find a suitable response. He was right, of course. But she’d left the door open for conversation, hadn’t she? She’d told him her nickname, she’d taken the gods-damned shot of whiskey. The ball had been in his court, then, and he’d let it roll right past him. For an _hour_.

“Fine,” she relented finally. “We’re talking now. So, um. Why did you come here tonight, anyway? This doesn’t really seem like your scene.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing myself,” he answered, swishing his drink idly in his hand. “This isn’t exactly going how I’d thought it would.”

 _Interesting_.

“How did you think it would go?”

His hand stilled around his glass, his eyes finding hers. There was something in them that sucked the air right out of her, something serious and suggestive. Maybe she was right, after all. Maybe he _did_ want her.

“I, ah.” Jon cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I thought for sure Tyrion would’ve been kicked out by now.”

She giggled at his unexpected humor, nearly toppling from her precarious seat on the stool. “Maybe he has,” she pointed out, shrugging. “Haven’t seen him in awhile, have we?”

Jon smiled at that—a handsome, disarming smile. It put her at ease to see it, to be reminded that under his coarse exterior was the kind man she’d seen in the classroom before.

“So when you aren’t sitting at bars avoiding dancing and talking,” she teased. “What do you do for fun?”

He shrugged. “I like training, exercise. I run and hike with my dog. I do a bit of reading. And I’m a fencing instructor.”

Dany snorted, inhaling a burning swig of her vodka soda and coughing to clear it. Her eyes teared from the choking sensation, but even through the blur she could see Jon’s scowl.

“Fencing?” she asked, gasping for breath. “ _Fencing_?”

“Aye, fencing,” he answered, bristling. “What of it?”

“You’re—you’re a _nerd_ , Jon Snow,” she announced, his obvious grumpiness only adding to her amusement. She tried to imagine it, Jon in one of those little white practice suits she’d seen in the movies, face hidden behind a mesh mask, curls stuffed under a helmet, _sword-fighting_ like they were in some period drama. Being a history nerd herself she could appreciate the hobby, but it didn’t make the idea of the surly Jon prancing his way through fencing footwork any less hilarious.

“A ‘nerd?’ Gods, what are you, ten?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“You’re a fencing math teacher. Face it.”

“Fencing is a noble craft, an art-form dating back centuries. You ought to know, history expert and all.”

“Still a nerd,” she grinned.

“I’m not,” he insisted, but she could see the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

“Alright, if you’re not a nerd, then prove it. A nerd wouldn’t dance with me,” she challenged playfully. “Come on, prove me wrong.”

He blinked at her, slowly uncrossing his arms.

“Fine,” he agreed, shrugging out of his jacket. He stood up and held out a hand, refusing to meet her eyes. “One song.”

Dany’s lips curled upward in a sultry grin, excitement thrumming through her. She wanted him. More than she’d thought she would, and the prospect of dancing with him had her body bursting with anxious energy. She took a final sip of her drink before setting it on the bartop next to her clutch and accepting Jon’s hand.

It was warm, warm and rough and big. He laced his fingers through hers and then turned away leading her through the press of bar patrons and out to the dancefloor.

The crowd had somewhat thinned from earlier that night, though Missandei and Grey were still going; Margaery and Sansa, too, laughing breathlessly and stumbling about. Dany didn’t really see anyone else she recognized among the dancers, though it was hard to tell in the semi-darkness.

The music was even louder here, the tall speakers abutting the crude wooden dancefloor. It was typical club fare, lots of bass, energetic beat. Ordinarily it wasn’t Dany’s type of music, but tonight she couldn’t have chosen anything better. When Jon turned to face her she saw uncertainty and nervousness etched into his features, but when she guided his hands to her hips they felt natural enough, and soon they were swaying and stepping in time with the song.

It didn’t take long for them to slip into an easy rhythm. The music pounded out louder than her own pulse in her ears, the dark of the bar casting everything in a haze of smoke and laughter. Dany was just drunk enough to be fearless and free. She didn’t even notice when she stepped out of turn, or the pain in her feet from her ill-advised stilettos. Everything blurred together into sensation and instinct.

It had been awhile, but Dany had loved dancing and clubbing with her friends back home. Even so, dancing with a man was different. She’d always seen it as a test of chemistry, rhythm and compatibility made physical. If that was true, Jon was passing the test with flying colors, holding her temptingly close one moment and spinning her out with an effortless flow in the next. Dany found herself returning the flash of his smile peeping out at her in the dark. He was _good_.

“I thought you couldn’t dance!”

“I never said I couldn’t,” he shouted back over the music, lifting her abruptly out of a dip, her hair whipping in the air. “I said I didn’t.”

For a heated moment they stood, breathing heavily from the dance, her face inches from his.

“I’m glad you changed your mind.”

The song ended on an instant of silence, their panting breaths suddenly deafening in her ears. Dany tried to hide her disappointment. It was over too quickly. Jon’s closeness, the grip of his hands and the dizzy excitement of moving with him on the dancefloor had only served to make her want him more. A tease. But despite his earlier “one song” declaration, when the next song filled the room with sound, he didn’t let her go.

Instead, he twirled her around in his arms, plastering her body to his and splaying his palms over her hips to hold her against him. She gasped, covering his hands with her own and relaxing into his hold. The song was slower than the first, and she writhed against Jon in time with the beat, her ass pressing at his hips.

She fell into something like a trance. All their prior hesitance melted away into a delicious euphoria as she danced shamelessly in Jon’s arms, breathing in the spice of his cologne, relishing in the heat of his palms through her dress, his breath at her ear and on her neck as they moved together. The second song blended into a third, and then a fourth, and soon Dany stopped counting. She felt wild and desirable, sweating from exertion, hair a mess and skin flushed. Jon was _everywhere_ , all lingering touches and breathy exhales, his body moving sinuously with hers.

It felt filthy to dance with him this way, especially at a work function of all things. But Dany found it hard to care about prying eyes with Jon’s hands sliding up from her waist, the pronounced feel of what she knew to be his erection throbbing at her backside.

For months she’d done nothing more than steal a glance across the staff lounge, pass in the hall close enough to brush his shoulder. Every moment had made her ache with some unsatisfied need. To be so close now, finally, was enough to make her wet with anticipation. The palpable attraction between them, the reciprocal, fluid sync of their movement went beyond anything she’d ever expected.

Jon’s quiet reserve had intrigued her before, but she’d never dreamt it was masking _this_ —that underneath his careful exterior he was so passionate and uninhibited. It was like her touch had flipped a switch, lit a fire, burning his mask away to reveal a wolf in a man’s clothing. Yes—a wolf, and she wanted nothing so much as to be devoured.

Dany could feel her dress riding up almost to her hips as she danced, grinding back on Jon with his leg shoved up between hers. Every touch was like a promise of what _could_ be if only they weren’t in public, if only they were alone.

She lifted her hands to feel for him behind her, grabbing blindly for his face, her fingers raking through his short beard. His palm was hot on her throat, guiding her head back until it rested at his shoulder, angling her face to his.

All at once the music crescendoed and Dany crushed their mouths together, grateful then for the towering heels that gave her height enough to match him. The kiss was rough and frantic, charged with all the building fervor from their dance. His lips were soft but unyielding, his beard scraping roughly at her mouth as he opened his lips to kiss her deeply. She met the hot slick of his tongue with her own, tasting the faint tang of his beer, the cool of some minty gum.

Jon dropped a hand from her jaw down lower to traverse the décolletage over her dress, then lower still, scandalously low. She moaned into his open mouth as he all but groped her through the fabric. She hadn’t worn a bra with the strapless dress, leaving nothing but the thin, sequined fabric between the flesh of his palm and the aching sensitivity of her nipple.

It was getting to be too much, too intimate, and even her booze-drenched awareness knew how wildly inappropriate it was, how mortified she’d be if their colleagues noticed what was happening. But it was only when Jon pulled back, gasping, that she had the clarity of mind to act.

She turned around in Jon’s arms to face him properly, still breathless from the kiss. She stood, drinking in the sight of him. His eyes were lidded and dazed, lips wet and kiss-swollen. Her lipstick was smeared all over his face. It only made her want him more, like she’d marked him, like he was _hers_ —no longer that untouchable-hot-guy from work but the _very-_ fuckable-hot-guy who’d all but dry humped her on the dancefloor.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” she breathed, leaning in to speak at the shell of his ear.

“Okay.”

Dany took his hand and marched him off the dancefloor, navigating through the throng of people and back to their former places at the bar. In a daze she collected her purse and settled up her bar tab, staring at her reflection in the huge mirror that spread across the wall behind the bar. She looked strange and unfamiliar, her eyes ringed in dark, smudging makeup, hair sticking to her damp skin, cheeks flaming.

This was completely mad. She was a schoolteacher. A sensible and responsible woman. She didn’t go out to clubs picking up men, _especially_ not men she’d have to confront in the staff lounge at work after the fact.

She was wrenched from her thoughts when Jon came up behind her. He was back in his suit jacket, looking at least a little more put-together than she did. She noted with some satisfaction that there were still faint splotches of pink coloring his face from her lipstick. His arms wound around her waist and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder before meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Ready to go, gorgeous?”

Dany’s heart thumped double-time at the possessive wrap of his embrace, the hint of mischief in his voice. How could she say no?

At her eager nod of assent Jon helped her into her coat and then guided her through the throng and out the door. When the brisk chill of the night air hit them on the sidewalk he pulled her in close, enveloping her in warmth. Dany let out a breath, nestling against his chest

“I didn’t drive here,” she murmured.

“Me neither.” Jon fished in his pocket for his phone, still shielding her between his arms as his thumbs tapped the screen rapidly, calling an Uber.

“My place or yours?” she whispered, stifling a giggle at the cliché. She could hardly believe it even now. She wasn’t one for one-night stands or going home with a guy on the first date. But she couldn’t stomach facing the silent loneliness of her cold apartment. Not tonight. And while Dany wanted to blame it on the vodka sodas, it was more than lust or loneliness that drew her to Jon. She liked him. She’d never been good at any of this, but he made it easy, natural.

“Uh—what’s your address?”

Dany spun in his arms, wriggling his phone out of his grip to type in her address. It took a few attempts, her fingers clumsy and unwieldly from the booze.

“Let me—” Jon began, noting her difficulty.

“I’ve got it,” she insisted, shrugging him off. After two more tries she finally spelled her street name correctly, confirming their ride. “Hope you like cats, Jon Snow,” she said with a grin, returning his phone to his pocket.

He smiled, nodding, but there was something off in his eyes. He looked distracted. Different. Dany opened her mouth to ask what was wrong but thought better of it when their ride arrived. The driver shot them an impatient glare and Jon dropped his arms from her sides, moving to get the door.

At Jon’s invitation Dany got in first, sliding across the back seat to make room for him beside her. When he didn’t follow she leaned over to peer up at him where he stood framed in the car doorway, a hand on the hood. He was looking down at her with an inscrutable expression that made her stomach drop.

“Be safe tonight, okay?”

“What? What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Jon mumbled, his dark eyes shifting away.

“What do you mean? Jon, get in,” she said, hating the pleading tone that entered her voice. “Don’t do this.”

“Good night, Dany.”

He pushed away from the car, shutting the door hard and stepping back off the curb. Dany gaped at him, scooting hurriedly toward the window and fumbling with the controls to lower it, but the car pulled away before she could.

Pressing her face to the cold glass she could just make out Jon’s shrinking form. He remained on the sidewalk, watching the retreating vehicle until they were out of sight. Even then, she couldn’t help noting how handsome he looked—hair tousled in the breeze, hands jammed in the pockets of his well-tailored slacks.

 _Asshole_ , she thought bitterly.

* * *

That night the alcohol was enough to soothe her to sleep in spite of her wounded pride and infuriating lust. But the rest of her week’s holiday from classes gave her ample time to nurse a healthy rage at and loathing for Jon. It was cruel of him, teasing her that way, touching her that way, _kissing her_ that way, only to send her home without so much as an explanation. In her darker moments she blamed herself. She should have known better, really. He couldn’t have truly wanted her. If he had, he wouldn’t have been so cold and silent at work. In her experience, if a man was interested he made it known. Loudly and often. Why should Jon be any different?

He _was_ different, though. Jon Snow was a snob, she’d decided. A snob and a tease. She tried to console herself with the notion that she’d dodged a bullet—clearly sleeping with him would have been a mistake of epic proportions. He’d done her a favor, really. If they’d gone through with it she’d be left with nothing but regret. _Right_?

When classes resumed the following week Dany did her best to act as though nothing had happened. Jon must have returned to the bar after their ill-fated encounter, because no one—not even Missandei—mentioned their leaving together. All conversation in the faculty lounge focused on Oberyn’s salacious dancing and Tyrion’s over-indulgence that led to him falling asleep on one of the newly-felted pool tables at the bar.

Dany was grateful for the gossip. She wanted nothing so much as to forget that night and the tumultuous emotions that had followed it. The alcohol had helped some. As it was, she could only remember the party in pieces, flashes.

The problem was that the images in her memory, jumbled as they were, were _hot_. Every time she thought of dancing close with Jon, the shameless snap of her hips, the moist heat of his breath on her neck, she had to squeeze her thighs together against the tingle of recognition, of desire. Despite her lingering anger her treacherous body wanted him still, which only made it more difficult when she saw him again.

He cornered her at the coffee pot, stepping in near enough that only she could hear.

“Dany,” he began, his voice a hurried whisper. “About last week. I—”

“Save it,” she cut him off, stepping away from his closeness, from the disorienting scent of his cologne, potent with memories. “And my name is Daenerys.”

There was a blink of pain in his eyes before his expression shuttered again. He left the break room in a huff.

If Dany was honest, she was desperate to hear his explanation. The unanswered questions and wondering what she’d done wrong were enough to keep her up at night. But her pride wouldn’t allow her to show it.

Thankfully, that morning was the only time Jon attempted to broach the subject, and from that day on he’d treated Dany with nothing but the same chilly civility she’d noted in him _before_ the party.

Eventually she’d broken down and told Missandei what had happened, and her friend had been supportive and encouraging, repeating the oft-used “he doesn’t deserve you” refrain. Dany wanted to believe it, but Jon had been the one to reject _her_ , and while there were no outward signs of what happened between them, a peculiar tension remained—a heat that made the air between them simmer with something vacillating between hatred and hunger.

So now, a year later, all those months of confusion about that night and her growing frustration at his stony demeanor coalesced into a bone-deep dread at the prospect of a weekend away in close quarters with Jon.

He’d left in such a hurry after Principal Tyrell’s meeting that they hadn’t had the opportunity to plan, which meant that sooner or later, one of them would have to initiate contact. The thought made Dany’s stomach turn.

Three days later it had become clear that Jon was leaving it up to _her_. Dany had been expecting him to approach her at work, drop by her classroom, find her at lunch. _Anything_. Instead he seemed to be avoiding her with more than his usual determination, so that by Thursday evening she still hadn’t seen him at all.

Dany was sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, Drogon spread out on her lap, a stack of ungraded papers guilting her from the coffee table. All her bags for the were trip packed and ready to go for the following day. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d have to be the one to reach out to Jon.

She clicked open her phone, her thumb hovering over her contacts with mounting anxiety, when the ding of her text tone sounded out, startling a hiss from Drogon.

She snorted with laughter as the notification lit up her screen: “New message from Pompous Dickhead.” The entire faculty directory was synced into all their contacts through the school’s email app, so Dany had always had Jon’s number in her phone. But Missandei had taken the liberty of changing his record from ‘Mr. Snow’ to the delightfully crude new moniker after Dany shared the story of their unfortunate Christmas party rendezvous. She’d never had occasion to contact him before or change it back. Maybe she never would.

After all, Missandei was a language expert. Who was Dany to question such an apt description of Jon’s character?

She opened the message with a smirk, her eyes scanning quickly over the brief text:

**_Pompous Dickhead:_ ** _“Meet outside the back entrance tomorrow at 6. Be ready to get on the road. We’ll take your car.”_

Dany shook her head, setting her glass down and thinking over how to reply. She couldn’t be the one to drive them up into the mountains. She wouldn’t. But she wasn’t about to admit fear or weakness to Jon.

_“No. Let’s take yours. See you at 6.”_

She sent the message with a shaky hand, dreading his response. She’d prefer not to lie, but if Jon pressed, she’d just say her car was in the shop. Anything was preferable to making herself vulnerable after the way he’d already hurt her pride.

The ellipses that signified Jon typing a response flickered into view, then disappeared. A moment’s pause and he was typing again. Dany bit her lip, anxiety prickling at her scalp. Maybe it’d be easier to just agree, to take her chances behind the wheel. At least if they wrecked she wouldn’t have to go on the stupid retreat.

But then his reply finally came.

**_Pompous Dickhead: “_ ** _Fine.”_

Rude, but at least he was consistent. Dany sighed. This was going to be a long weekend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to drop a comment if you liked it. Have a great week :)


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